It Happened One Night
by Authoressinhiding
Summary: Faith has seen Tall, Hot, and Bowlegged in the parking lot a time or two, but she's never talked to him before. Not until now. Oneshot set during the Zeppo (BtVS 3.13).


**A/N: **Back after a long break! Still working on that BtVS/SPN/Criminal Minds crossover, but I'm trying a new thing of actually finishing the first draft of stories before I start publishing them. In the meantime, here's this little isolated BtVS season 3 oneshot. Takes place during the middle of BtVS 3.13, the Zeppo, and several years prior to the start of SPN season 1.

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters, settings, and plot lines belong to Joss Whedon, Eric Kripke, Warner Brothers, and many other people who make far more money than I do.

* * *

**8:30 p.m. January 26, 1999, Sunnydale, California**

_Just relax . . . and take off your pants._

_Those two concepts are antithetical._

_Don't worry. I'll steer you around the curves._

"That was great. I gotta shower."

One arm was wrapped in a sheet, holding it close to her chest in an anticlimactic gesture of modesty, while the girl's other hand closed the door in Xander Harris's goopy, confused face. She twisted the dead bolt over the door knob, dropped the sheet and her faux cheery smile simultaneously, and stepped toward the dingy motel bathroom, rolling her shoulder gingerly. That dammed Sisterhood of Jhe had dislocated it, and the joint still hurt half an hour post re-location.

Faith made it into the shower before her pesky brain started yammering doubts. Sleeping with Harris, popping his cherry . . . Oh, sure, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Feeling horny? Why not bang the next able-bodied Y chromosome that stumbled across her path? Particularly if he were the one who'd just quasi-rescued her in that old car by slamming it into the Jhe demon. Also, even before his little confession, Faith figured Harris hadn't been much in the way of getting any and so wasn't too likely to have gotten anything that she needed to worry about. Contact precaution-wise, anyway.

But it had been dumb. And if the way he had acted after (all soft eyes and arm-touching) was anything to go off of, he was one of those loser-romantic types, guaranteed to fall in love with the first pair of boobs to look him right in the eyes. Which was the absolute last thing that Faith needed.

Oh, well. What had psychotic renegade Watcher bitch said? She was stupid? Faith stepped over the edge of the scummy bathtub and toweled the worst of the funky smelling water out of her hair and off of her body. Huh. Wasn't like Watcher Gone Postal had been totally wrong.

A good bit drier and somewhat cleaner, the Slayer rummaged through her dresser for a pair of cotton briefs, once black and now fading to charcoal gray. She tugged on the matching bra. The tops of the demi cups had been skimmed with lace when she repatriated it from a department store, but Faith had cut that off because it itched.

Besides, she wasn't exactly the tons of lace kind of girl. That was Cordelia. Faith tended towards the more utilitarian. She just needed something that did the job. Underwear was for changing rooms, for catching blood or whatever other gunk her body decided to spew out. It wasn't a seduction tool. If a guy wasn't raring to go by the time Faith started taking her clothes off, he wasn't the guy for her.

The seventeen-year-old threw on a cleanish pair of jeans and a dark red tank top, her scuffed Doc Martens, her leather jacket, and a fresh coat of mascara, eyeliner, and dark red lipstick. She gathered her wet hair into a low ponytail and grabbed her phone, wallet, and a pack of cigarettes off the wobbly motel dresser.

After shoving a stake into the top of one Marten and a knife into the other, she added a second, shorter dagger in a sheath at her hip, the hilt and most of the blade hidden by the length of her jacket. Satisfactorily armed, Faith stomped outside, locking the door behind her.

The janky motel room wasn't much. Hell, it wasn't even 'Spartan,' whatever the frak that meant. And in those few times when it didn't reek of cigarettes or sex, the mildewy stink of the black mold growing above the shower was enough to make Faith want to barf. Still, the room was what she had, and she'd rather not come back to find all her stuff gone.

Halfway across the parking lot, she flipped open the almost empty pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, and stuck it in her mouth. Only then did she remember her lighter was still in the pocket of her other jeans.

"Sh-t," said Faith with more than a little heat, the cigarette already pinched in the corner of her mouth.

"Need a light?"

The Slayer whirled, one hand sneaking towards the dagger at her hip. She had gotten so used to the old muscle car parked practically in front of her door and had been too caught up in her need for nicotine that she failed to notice the figure standing at the driver's side door.

"Sorry." The man held up his hands and stepped back. Maybe Faith's age, maybe a little older, the guy wore a dark gray Henley and blue jeans over scuffed brown work boots. He was standing beside the old muscle car parked in front of the motel room next to Faith's, a silver zippo lighter clasped in his right palm. He had short light brown hair and the beginnings of an eight o'clock shadow, and his eyes were pale in the dim light of the parking lot.

Now that she looked at him, the Slayer recognized his face. She had seen the guy once or twice that week - it was hard to ignore the engine of that Chevy unless you were dead. Some times he was by himself, other times he was escorting a gangly teenage boy with messy brown hair and a giant backpack. Faith had also seen the younger kid before: he had almost stumbled into one of Buffy's after-school Slayage meetings on Tuesday. Only Willow's obnoxious shriek about it being special office hours for seniors had stopped him from rounding the bookshelf and finding Faith and Buffy mid-attack on Giles.

But this one, the older brother, Faith had not run into up at the school. Only in the parking lot. And while sure, they had made eye contact once or twice, and she had been appreciative of the view his bowlegged jeans provided, neither of them had actually said anything. No one stayed at the Motor Inn if they had a better option, and the clientele tended to avoid small talk.

"Hi," Faith said awkwardly, lowering her hand from her knife and hoping she hadn't blown her cover.

"Didn't mean to surprise you," said the guy, his gaze following her movement. He dropped his hands.

The cigarette dangling jauntily from her lips, Faith accepted the apology with a friendliness she did not feel. "Nah, that's cool. Guess I just need this smoke more than I thought."

"You want a light?" the man repeated.

Her brown eyes flicked from the man's face to the lighter in his grip and then over to her motel room door. "Why not?" Faith closed half the distance between them and leaned forward, sticking her chin out.

Saying nothing, the stranger flicked the lighter easily and held the flame to the end of her cigarette until it caught alight.

Feeling a little awkward, Faith fished the crumpled cigarette pack out of her back pocket and offered it to him. "You want one?"

"Sure." He took the cigarette. "Thanks."

Faith considered walking away but hesitated. She had planned on smoking while she walked to the bus stop, then catching a bus towards the high school and finishing another cigarette on the walk to the library. If the Sisterhood of Jhe really wanted to jumpstart the end of the world tonight, the Slayer seriously needed to get her buzz on.

Then again, chances were that this dude would be her next door neighbor for the foreseeable future. Plus, Buffy hadn't texted her that she and Angel were on their way yet, and this guy was seriously bangable.

She stepped away from Tall, Hot, and Bowlegged to lean against the trunk of that cherry car of his, her butt resting on the bumper. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, she said, "I'm Faith."

"Dean." Tall, Hot, and Bowlegged joined her. Considerately, he left a good nine inches of steel and gleaming paint between them. Dean took a drag on the cigarette, his expression freezing momentarily. "Menthol?" he frowned.

"They're cheap," she explained, forcing herself to keep it casual and not defensive. "Plus -"

"It's all they sell at that crappy booze store on Elm that doesn't card." His voice was light, breezy, nonjudgmental.

"You found Leo's already," noted Faith in between inhales, almost impressed. "You work quick, for a newbie."

Dean glanced at her sharply, trying to figure out if that had been a compliment or not. "Been here a week."

"Mmm." The Slayer nodded. "That's about what I thought."

When his gaze narrowed from sharp to suspicious, Faith snorted. "Your car ain't exactly subtle."

He gave the old Impala a glowing look of pride and a gentle pat on the lid of its trunk.

"So," Faith asked after a glance at the man's hand on the gleaming steel of the Chevy, "you coming or going?"

"Just heading out."

"Any fun plans?" You never knew, Faith reasoned to herself. The apocalypse might not take all night.

"Nah." Dean shook his head. "You?"

"Not really," the Slayer lied, blocking the satisfying image of taking out more of those nasty Sisterhood of Jhe acolytes. "Just gotta run up to the school and take care of some stuff."

"You go to the school?" He looked at her curiously.

"Hell, no. Dropout. I got friends there, though." Faith kept her chin up and breathed out a puff of smoke directly in front of her, then turned to survey him, her self-satisfied expression unflinching.

"Me, too," said Dean. "Dropout, I mean." He smiled at her, the gesture filled with camaraderie. Up this close, his light eyes were a startlingly clear green. "Haven't been here long enough to get to know anybody other than my little brother. And, I guess, now you."

_Hon, this ain't getting to know me, _Faith thought. But she returned the smile anyway.

"Well," said Dean, apropos of nothing, "it sounded like you were having fun earlier."

_Oh_. Faith was kind of hoping that he hadn't seen Xander's exit and drawn any conclusions about that. Sure, Xander was nice in a panting puppy dog kind of way, but Faith had learned her lessons with nice. Nice always burned you in the end. Better to just know that everything was going to end up crappy and dramatic ahead of time.

Blush-free, the Slayer gave him an appraising look instead. "You like to listen?"

"Walls are thin," he replied, his green eyes teasing.

"Sorry about that," said Faith, although she wasn't at all sorry. "Hope your brother wasn't home?"

"Nope." The corners of Dean's mouth quirked upwards at the mention of his little brother. "He's at some Mathlete thing up at the school. Just on my way to go pick him up now."

"That's nice of you."

Dean shrugged awkwardly, and Faith wondered if he was uncomfortable with the compliment. "He's my brother," the guy said, as if that explained everything.

They smoked in silence for a moment longer, nearly reaching the ends of their cigarettes, and then the guy rumbled, "Hey, you said you had an errand up at the school, right? I'd be happy to give you a ride over there."

"My mother told me never to get the car with strangers," drawled Faith, tossing her cigarette butt down and rubbing it out with her Doc Marten.

That was a lie. Her mother had told her no such thing. It had been her poor old dead Watcher Diana, somewhere in her long list of rules of what behavior was and was not allowed under her roof. Faith's little workout with Xander definitely fell under the "Not Allowed" category. But she grinned a little as she said it, because she wouldn't mind working out with this Dean guy one of these days.

Reading her play easily, Dean grinned back. "Can't be strangers," he said, his voice growing a little deeper. "You borrowed my lighter, loaned me a cigarette, told me your name. Why, that practically makes us friends."

"Practically," Faith chuckled. She stared at him for a moment, her eyes narrowed, and sucked on the inside of her cheek before relenting. "Okay."

Dean gestured widely to the car. "After you." He followed the Slayer around to the passenger side door and opened it for her before crossing in front of the hood and getting in behind the wheel.

To Faith's ongoing approval, he kept his hands to himself, and his eyes were for the most part respectful. They had only strayed down to check out her cleavage or her ass a couple of times in the conversation so far, which had definitely contributed to why Faith felt comfortable enough to accept the ride. And if he tried anything, she'd dive out of the car. Or smash his face into the steering wheel a few times and then dive out of the car. Besides, it would be a much shorter ride than taking the bus.

As he turned the key in the ignition, a Led Zeppelin tape roared to life alongside the monster engine.

"So it's not just your car that's old school?"

"No," said Dean.

"How long've you been in town, for your brother to join the Mathletes?" Maybe it was a bit presumptuous, but he had offered to give her a ride, and Faith felt that gave her a free pass on the interrogation front.

"Six days," replied the guy with a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a groan. "But Sammy moves fast."

"That little bro's name? Sammy?"

Dean eased the car out of the motel parking lot and slid past a dented minivan in order to make a right-hand turn. "More or less. Samuel for long, Sam for short, and Sammy to me."

"That's kinda nice," said Faith. She briefly wondered what it would be like to have the whole sibling nickname thing. Remembering her crap parents, though, it had probably been for the best the she was an only child.

"Yeah. Hey, if this isn't your deal," he tapped the tape deck with a finger, "we can always try the radio. Sometimes it's on the fritz, but like I said, we could try."

His tone was reluctant, so Faith took pity on him. "Nah, this is good."

"Cool. How, uh, how long have you been at the Inn?"

Faith's nose scrunched up as she thought. "Middle of September, beginning of October, maybe?"

"Wow."

Thankfully, he did not ask how she had stuck it out there for so long. The short answer (and the long one) was that she didn't have anywhere else to go, but Faith did not feel the need to share that particular fact at the moment.

The song on the tape changed, and Dean began singing along, softly at first and then, after a series of surreptitious looks at Faith to see if she was judging him, louder and louder.

Faith waited for the song to end before commenting, "So there's a dork hiding under that cool car and old school rock exterior, huh?"

Dean's good mood refused to be repressed. "You gotta sing when Zeppelin says sing."

"A _total_ dork," snickered the Slayer. "God, I'm in a car with a complete and _total _dork."

Dean laughed. "Hey, trust me, I"m way less of a dork than my brother is."

Faith regarded him pityingly. "Dude, that ain't saying much. Kid's a _Mathlete_."

"He's real smart, you know," the guy rushed to defend his brother. "Sammy, that is. Real smart. Like, _college_ smart," he finished proudly.

"What about you? You college smart, too?"

"Nah." Dean shook his head but thankfully didn't seem upset by the question. "Dropped out junior year. Sammy's on my back all the time to go back or get my GED, but I dunno. I'm sure as hell not going back now. Way too old."

"How old?" wondered Faith casually.

"Nineteen. You?"

"Dropped out sophomore year," she answered. "Seventeen now."

"Huh. _You_ could still go back." He braked sharply as the light in front of them turned red. "You said you've got friends at the school?"

_Friends-ish_, thought Faith. Aloud, she said, "They're all seniors. Plus, I'm not too huge on the books."

"So, uh, not that it's any of my business, but was that your boyfriend earlier?" he asked, his tone deceptively relaxed, deliberately neutral and non-leering.

Faith glanced at him. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead. "Nope," she replied, equally neutral. "Just a guy I know. Had an itch, he was there, end of story."

"You know," said Dean, still nonchalant, "the next time you get an itch, keep me in mind. I'm pretty good at scratching."

Faith laughed so hard that she almost choked on her own spit. "Oh, my god," she said when she had recovered. "That was _terrible._"

"Out of line?" said Dean, sounding quite a good bit embarrassed and a little offended.

"Look," the Slayer stated, watching his face closely for any danger signs, "I appreciate the offer. But you have _got _ to work on your pick-up lines. That was, I mean, to be honest, I'd give that like a D-minus. And I'm a high school dropout."

"That bad?"

"_Awful_."

He cracked up at that, and unspoken knowledge hung in the air between them: she had not said 'no.'

Half a minute later, they were pulling up in front of the high school, where a lanky fifteen-year-old was waiting for them on the curb with a math textbook in his arms and a stony face.

As his older brother reached across Faith to roll down the window, the teenager began petulantly, "You're late, Dean. _Again _\- oh." He caught sight of Faith, and his expression became even stonier, if that were possible.

Dean's own smile froze. "Uh -"

"My cue to leave," said Faith quickly, unbuckling her seat belt. "Thanks for the ride." She gave the man a wide grin, full of post-cigarrette nicotine and pre-apocalypse adrenaline. "I'll have my people call your people. On second thought," she lowered her voice into a conspiratorial whisper, "your people looks kinda pissed."

"Kinda, yeah."

"Dean, I can hear both of you," the younger teenager reminded them.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sammy, hang on -" he started as Faith opened the shotgun door and spilled out of the car.

Still grinning, the Slayer darted past the frustrated Mathlete and turned around to look at the two brothers' muttered bickering.

"Nice to meet you, boys," she called back at them, and then she was turning again, the knife at her hip secure, and laughing, Faith ran off to dance with the apocalypse.

_Fin._


End file.
